Opposite Planes of Existence
by Arishandera
Summary: When Bakura, a ghost damned for eternity, decides to haunt Malik, a boy whose lively yet mysterious personality intrigues him, he is forced to face its consequences. But can anything exist between one who is living, and one who is dead? AU Y.BakuraMalik
1. Chapter 1: The Ghost

**This is a tentative story of mine. And I want your opinions as to whether I should continue it or not. I already have a couple of stories in-progress, but I am willing to spend some time with this fic if you readers think it is worth it and all. If not, then I'll delete this, and after a few weeks or so…see what I can do to spice it up. But I really do like this plot I've come up with, so sooner or later, I am going to work on it eventually. **

**Main Pairing: Yami Bakura/Malik**

**Warnings: Cursing, shonen-ai, and hints of yaoi every now and then in the later chapters (nothing _too_ explicit, mind you).**

**Disclaimer: All named characters are owned by Kazuki Takahashi.**

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Chapter 1:

The Ghost

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He hadn't been sure how to react when he was met with that unnaturally pale figure just when he was about to leave the museum with his haul. At first, he thought it was someone sent by Bandit Keith to assist him in the robbery but came too late. This thought was eliminated from his mind when the other, upon nearing him, said, "You have something, that belongs to me…I want it back."

He had sneered, thinking that this was one of those overconfident punks they'd have to deal with every now and then. They were common nuisances, 'attacking' them after a successful burglary, and then attempting to steal their loot afterwards. Not that they were successful most of the time. He himself had handled such attacks before and so felt confident that he could handle the current situation as well.

"You whelps never know when to give up do you?"

The other boy raised a pale eyebrow, and now that they were a mere four feet apart he couldn't help but take in the other's strange appearance. The very first thing he noticed was the boy's hair; pure white, probably a shade lighter than his skin tone. The word "albino" passed through his mind immediately but then he caught sight of the other's dark brown eyes. Some other kind of freak then, he decided.

"If you think I'm giving this up," he held up the backpack that contained the stolen goods. It jingled softly as he did this, and the pale boy eyes seemed to intensify and darken in that moment. "Then you're out of your fucking mind."

The pale one sighed deeply. "Please…your overconfidence is sickening. I'm giving you a chance to walk away unharmed. That's _very _generous of me…so it's best that you just do as I say; Give me the _ring_, and you can leave with all the other things you've stolen, sell them, keep them, I don't care."

A look of realization passed upon the boy's face. The ring must be quite costly if the other wanted it. He faintly remembered grabbing the golden trinket randomly on his way out, actually. How lucky of him to come across something as valuable as this. He had no intention of letting it be taken away from him now that he was aware of its value.

He noticed the pale boy step forward suddenly, and he reacted at once, thinking the other was going for an attack.

"Sneaky son of a bitch, are you?" he grunted and aimed a swift punch at the other's abdomen. The next moment, his face contorted into a horrorstruck expression, at the same time that a devilish smirk appeared on the intruder's pale-pinkish lips. His fist felt cold, as if he dipped it in a bucket of iced water, only the feeling was far more horrible than that. His whole hand felt numb by now and he could feel the coldness spreading up his arm, but his mind did not register this at all. His eyes were fixated on his fist, which had _passed through _the other boy's stomach, and his mind was busy struggling to come up with a reasonable explanation as to what was currently happening.

"_W-What the f-fuck…are…you?_" he stuttered. His confidence had abandoned him, replaced with a creeping sense of horror that was consuming him more and more by the second.

Instead of answering, the being said, with a taunting grin, "You shouldn't have done that…you don't know how I hate it, when I'm reminded of my…incorporeal state."

The boy leaped back, overcoming his state of shock.

The other continued without losing a beat. "Nonetheless, it _does _prove useful in certain situations. Like what happened just now for example."

His arm prickled painfully after being withdrawn from the other's body, and he automatically started rubbing it with his other hand, dropping the bag he was carrying, in an attempt to bring back its warmth. The pale being's eyes flickered to where it lay on the dusty floor before settling back to look at him.

"Now, that wasn't so difficult was it? Though I only desire the ring…" he said casually, a thoughtful expression on his face. After saying that, he stepped forward, and ignoring how the boy scuttled away with fear, squatted by the loot bag and reached a pale thin arm as if to take it. The boy could only watch in awe and a sense of foreboding as the other boy's hand only passed through the bag's material, causing an irritated look to appear on the pale face.

"I still forget sometimes," he heard the other muse. The boy started when the spirit-being turned to him, "Looks like I need your help…" he smiled in what may seem like a friendly way, "Get my ring, and bring it back to where you found it. Then you can go."

"Y-You're a g-g-gh…" he had a hard time saying it since his mind was screaming that this wasn't possible, that what he was about to say was so ridiculous that the other boy might laugh at him.

The pale boy's smile widened, and he finished the other's sentence himself, "A ghost, a spirit, an apparition…whatever you'd like to call it."

The boy's eyes dilated. A ghost. He was talking with a _ghost_. And now that he was aware of _what _this person was, he noticed certain things that could prove the other really was a spiritual being, as he so claimed. Looking closely, he could see that other's body was see-through, not completely transparent, but translucent instead. He could see the faint outline of the wide open front doors through him. And by the moonlight peeking through them, he became aware that he made no shadow at all, the light passed through him as if he wasn't even there. And was it only him, or was the other boy's feet floating just a few centimeters from the floor?

He was brought back to his senses when the ghost snapped his fingers in front of his face, the sound abnormally sharp in the tense atmosphere, "Oi," he said, "Still in the world of the living, kid?"

"Y-yes…"

"Well? Put my ring back in its case. In your lifetime, if possible."

The boy clumsily stood up. He kept his distance from the ghost and reached down and took hold of his bag. As he did so, he took a glance at the open doors, trying to weigh down his chances if he made a run for it. What could the ghost do, anyways? It was apparent that the spirit couldn't make physical contact with anything with the living world, so if he _did _decide to run out of here, the other wouldn't be able to do anything to stop him, right?

And so that's what he did…he ran.

It was the worst choice he could make at the moment. For though it was true that the dead, a ghost in this case, couldn't directly affect anything in the living world, they had certain special abilities in their disposal that could more than make up for their lack of a physical body.

When he saw the boy run away, his eyes hardened and all thoughts of mercy left the ghost's mind. He had been patient, excruciatingly so, with the petty robber, but seeing that the boy actually had the gall to steal _his_ ring from him, even after being told that he wanted it back, made his blood boil (figuratively speaking, since his blood probably dried up thousands of years ago).

The door was mere feet away; pretty soon, he'd be free of this nightmare. The boy rejoiced with this thought. But it all fell flat once he found the pale ghost blocking his path. The expression in the other's face was so frightening, that the boy was forced to think of the devil himself. The way his eyes glinted red and how his spiky white hair seemed to fan behind him with a non-existent wind, made such a terrifying picture, he immediately dreaded what the other planned on doing to him.

"I gave you a choice earlier..." he said, leaning closer, mockingly, "And sad to say…you picked the wrong one."

He inhaled sharply and his hands shook as the ghost moved in. The bag was discarded on the ground, that strange chime sounding once more. The ghost kept coming closer and closer, soon he'd be passing through him, he thought. And when the ghost and his' body did overlap , a searing pain tore through him, incomparable to the strange coldness he felt before. This one felt not only like his whole body was dipped into the freezing waters of the Arctic, but as if icicles were being used to stab his body, over and over again and freezing him from inside-out. By the time he exhaled, he wasn't _him _anymore. The ghost was in control now.

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The ring was back in its rightful place, the circular gold glinting maliciously in the darkness. The glass case that housed it before was shattered, but he did not mind. All that mattered was that the ring was safe, and in his possession once more.

The ghost looked at his hands, or rather, his current host's hands, with a frown. Burns marked his palms and shone an angry red even in the dark. If he'd been holding on to the ring any longer, his hands could've been burned off. He did not care for the mortal body, but for his waning strength instead, possession was an energy-consuming task. The priests that imprisoned him were indeed very good in making sure he could not hold or carry the ring he'd been cursed with for long periods of time. Even a mere twenty seconds (the time it took for him to carry the ring from the front hall to the Egyptian Exhibits section) was enough to make his hands red with pain.

The past few weeks had been utter hell. Only halfway through the month and he already had to deal with five robberies, all of which just had to involve his precious ring. Maybe next time, he thought sarcastically, he'd write in a piece of paper, 'Bakura's ring. Do not touch if you want to keep your soul' with a thick red marker.

Now, he walked back to the front door of the museum. The body he currently possessed had to be discarded as well, since he couldn't retreat within another's body for long without permission, which of course, he did not have. Another limitation to his capabilities. Those damn priests always had to be so specific, not even leaving any loopholes for him. An easy solution would be to find someone willing to _be _possessed, but honestly, who'd want a tomb robber's spirit hosting in their body?

Upon arriving above the museum's front steps, he decided to leave the body here. He could not go any farther anyway, another side-effect of being the golden ring's prisoner.

With a deep almost sorrowful sigh, Bakura relinquished his control over the body, not caring at all how the boy fell in a heap among the steps. The fool would wake up in a few hours or so. Normally, he would've kept them in his company just a little longer, terrorize them through the night, and then disappear as the sun rises, leaving them wondering whether he was real or not. A sadist he may be, but there was no other way to quench the feeling of utter helplessness he couldn't avoid experiencing. After all, if he could make a bunch of macho-arrogant teenage boys whimper and go crying home to their mothers, then he couldn't be weak, not when he knew there were those who would quiver and shake in his presence. And until he found some way to rid himself of this pathetic state of living, then this would have to do. Bakura would wait. After all…that's what he's been doing for the last three thousand years or so. He could wait a little bit more.

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**I'm testing my serious-writing skills here (since I mostly write humor). So tell me what you people think.**


	2. Chapter 2: The Mortal Boy

**Oh my god! Yes, it's an update! X   
**

**Just a promised, here's the next chapter. Malik makes his entrance   
**

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Chapter 2:

The Mortal Boy

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It was several days—or was it a month?—since the attempted stealing of his ring. Bakura could never really be to sure. Time was difficult to keep track of when you appeared to live forever, when each day and night blended so seamlessly with the next. A year could very well be a single day for all he knew.

It was noon, judging by the position of the sun. Bakura spent most of his time wandering the museum since his precious ring was brought here, more or less a decade ago. It had come to the point wherein he memorized each nook and cranny, every single word displayed alongside the exhibits that served to explain them to the visitors the museum once had (having nothing else to do).

A sigh escaped the spirit's lips as he floated through the walls without so much as a pause or a blink of an eye, being so used to passing through physical matter all this time.

He was desperate, so _very _desperate to be taken away from this place. He didn't even care if it's in another dusty old museum. The monotonous days, only broken by the occasional (and irritating) petty thieves, were driving him to near-insanity.

Granted, he could probably _allow _some of those boys to acquire his ring, just so he could have a change of scenery, but he couldn't trust the ring to someone of their nature. Being dragged into some gang's lame hideout was beneath what he wanted. Maybe if someone somewhat _decent _enough (as opposed to conniving burglars) just walked into the entrance some day, he'll take his chance.

With nothing to amuse him, Bakura was finding it increasingly hard not to possess some random rat, or any other animal for that matter and give the residents living next to the museum a scare (albeit not in the ghostly sense).

'Damn…maybe I should've kept that slimy kid here longer…for entertainment purposes,' he thought bitterly.

He found himself back from where he started his routine rounds (it was his habit to wander around the museum everyday). The golden ring he was so protective about was sitting in the lone pedestal in the Egyptian artifacts section of the old exhibit. It may not look much to those who knew no better, but rest assured, that piece of gold would raise a hefty fee when let loose in the market. Bakura was a bit surprised that the past museum officials failed to notice that they left such a valuable piece to collect dust in this rotting place.

He was about to descend underground (finding the sunlight irritating because of his rather stormy mood), when his over-sensitive hearing picked up a number of voices at the front doors.

He snarled under his breath. "It's not even dark yet! Those punks are getting bolder everyday."

Fueled by irritated rage, he literally flew towards the entrance, the walls doing nothing to hinder his progress since he went through them anyways. He was already at the main hall in fifteen seconds flat. He stopped for a moment, and took notice of the handle that turned this way and that a couple of times. He could barely count the times that very same lock was picked during the other previous break-ins.

Bakura glided forward and positioned himself a couple of feet from the doorway in his invisible form. He might as well milk this opportunity or what it's worth and scare the crap out of these fools for some short-lived amusement.

_Clic k  
_

The lock finally gave away and Bakura prepared himself. He was about to jump in and take control of the person closest to him once the door opened but stopped himself all of a sudden. 'They have a _key_?' he registered in mild confusion.

Indeed, a set of silver keys bunched in a metal hoop jingled in the man's hand. Bakura looked up, and he couldn't help but widen his eyes slightly in astonishment. No one could blame him though; anyone would find it a challenge _not _to stare at the newcomer.

First to note was the man's height, he must be a good foot and a half taller than Bakura, and by the way he held himself, Bakura was sure a good number of normal men would cower in his mere presence because of the imposing figure alone. Another thing that registered in his mind was that the man was bald, except for a small portion that was tied into a simple ponytail at his back. What really caught Bakura's attention, however, was the tattoo-like markings at one side of the man's face, an inky black in color against the tanned skin. At first glance, he dismissed it as some of those tribal markings that these mortals seemed to be obsessed with these days, however, a moment later he saw that they were actually hieroglyphics. Hieroglyphics written in his tongue, not the modern language he had to familiarize himself with all his forced travels around the world, but his _true _language, ancient Egyptian.

Bakura decided to wait and see the events that would soon unfold. Needless to say, this was not one of the typical visits he had to endure for years (that of gang raids and robberies) so this was quite a welcome, not to mention interesting, change. Anyways, he could always turn back to his previous intentions should this be some mere joke or the like.

He raised his eyes to look behind the towering man. He took note of a couple of trucks parked at the street, as well as a dozen or so movers moving boxes and such out of the vehicles. His attention however, was quickly diverted towards another tanned individual approaching the museum's entrance.

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Isis Ishtar was hesitant in leaving the movers they hired with her precious artifacts. Already, she nearly lost a set of fragile ceremonial vases in their clumsy hands. Had she had the time, she would've carved into that man's head just how much those vases cost, but there were other more important things that required her attention.

Upon nearing the man at the door, she said, "The keys worked fine then, Rishid?"

The man, Rishid, nodded once. "A bit rusty, but they did say the place has been abandoned for years…I'll just replace the locks once we get settled to avoid problems."

Isis stepped through the doorway and looked around, a slightly grim expression on her usually passive face. They had been indeed informed that the Domino City Museum would be in ruins before they took up the offer to be the ones to get it up and running once more. But this was just ridiculous; it seemed that the previous curator made no effort at all to assure the building was fortified with at least some security against thieves. Broken pottery were littered everywhere, the windows were shattered, obvious signs of break-ins. Did no one care about the exhibits they left behind at all?

Rest assured, she was going to be more passionate about her position as the museum's curator than those who preceded her. Her devotion to her work was one of the things Isis Ishtar was known for back in Egypt, wherein she ran the Cairo Museum. That and her even more intense commitment to her only remaining blood relative.

"Rishid? Where's Malik?" she said, looking at the taller man.

Immediately, Rishid's eyes hardened and he swiftly turned around, eyes rapidly scanning the area. Isis displayed less paranoia and simply walked forward, and with one hand covering her eyes from the sun's rays, looked for her younger brother.

Rishid was on the verge of tearing forward when the familiar figure of a golden-haired boy stepped out of one of the moving trucks, lean lightly-muscled arms wrapped around a medium-sized box.

From the corner of her vision, Isis saw Rishid visibly relax. She hid a small smile with her hand. The only person more protective than her when involving her brother was Rishid. The adult man, though only an adopted member of the remaining Ishtar family, could have very well been a real sibling with the way he fussed over the youngest among them.

"Sister…? Rishid…?" came her brother's low, yet still somehow child-like voice.

Isis looked at Malik, who had approached them while she was immersed in her inner musings. The teenage boy had his head tilted to the side and was looking at her and Rishid with a confused expression.

She raised her eyebrow at the box Malik was holding, almost possessively she noted, against his chest. "What were you doing, Malik?"

Rishid made a move to take the burden from the smaller male, "You don't have to help with the unpacking."

However, Malik took a step back and shook his head politely, "I want to be the one to carry this…" he trailed off, unsure as to how to go on.

Isis furrowed her brow in confusion, but seeing that Malik wasn't going to explain his strange behavior she carefully hid her concern and curiosity and said "Very well…" she took a quick glance at the box's label, admitting what was written there in her memory. She would check it out later. "The Egyptian exhibit is four rooms forward, judging that the map they provided is with was accurate of course. You can go ahead if you want, just place it somewhere in the room and we'll fix it later."

----

Bakura couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the newest arrival's attire. The boy, Malik, the other mortals had called him, seemed to be quite fond of gold. Armlets adorned his arms, and a smaller pair near his shoulders, the boy even had three golden bands around his neck. He was quite sure the mortal would be stripped bare if he walked the streets alone. With all that gold he was flaunting, the gangs would be driven towards him like a pack of flies on a bloody piece of meat.

The lavender shirt Malik was wearing was an eye-catcher too. Any self-respecting male wouldn't be caught dead wearing such a color. Though maybe the other boy could get away with it because of how it matched his haunting eyes, a shade not far from the shirt he was wearing.

Abandoning Isis and Rishid, Bakura proceeded to float just alongside the blonde-haired boy, almost close enough to touch him (if he had a physical body that is). The box was still in the boy's grasp as he walked briskly towards his destination; the Egyptian exhibit.

Bakura smirked. 'Just _perfect_.'

It did not take long for Malik to reach the room, with the still-invisible spirit his unknown companion.

Bakura raised an eyebrow curiously when Malik appeared to scan his surroundings to see if he was truly alone before moving to open that strange box of his.

Wasting no time, he smoothly walked forward and peered into the unknowing boy's back as Malik sorted through the box's contents.

The spirit's eyes observed the items as Malik took them out. It didn't seem much, causing Bakura to wonder why the boy was so adamant about being the one to handle the box in the first place. There was an aged candle holder, and a couple of ceremonial-looking daggers (this piqued Bakura's interest though), a long piece of plain cotton-made cloth, and some other things Bakura didn't care to recognize.

However, Bakura did a double-take when he saw the last item Malik took out from the box; a golden scepter would be the easiest way to describe it, with the symbolic Egyptian eye at its head, blade-like extensions at the golden sphere's sides. But Bakura knew exactly what it was, that image was burned in his memory. He would recognize that item anywhere.

'The Millennium Rod…' he thought numbly, staring at said item before Malik hid it deep in one of his pockets.

He was snapped out of his reverie when he registered footsteps steadily making their way towards them. Malik must've heard this too because he roughly grabbed the things he had previously laid out on the floor and stuffed them swiftly back in the box.

Two men walked into the room, both holding one end of what looked like a large stand made for displaying purposes. They looked at Malik and one of them jerked their heads at their burden, "Where are we supposed to put this, kid?"

Malik quickly regained his bearings and said, "Right here would be fine, sister said we'll be the ones to sort the rooms out later," he waved an arm where he had placed his box casually and then proceeded to leave the room through one of the four exits available.

Bakura shook himself and followed him. Questions running rampant around his mind that he was determined to have answered.

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Malik had one hand deep inside his pocket, the Millennium Rod clasped tightly in it. He willed himself to relax. That had been close. If those men had caught him rummaging around like that, they would've surely told his sister. That in turn, would have Isis nagging him with questions that he just couldn't answer, not yet anyway. But if everything went according to what he planned, then he'll be able to tell them _everything_. A promise he made to himself five years ago.

Hiding the Millennium Item was no easy task. Isis and Rishid had no idea he even had it. Malik planned on keeping it that way.

"I'm getting tired of this…" he breathed softly as he leaned against the wall, massaging his forehead with his free hand.

With a sigh, he pushed himself up and moved another room away from where the movers will be coming and going. When the thumps and scrapes were little more than a faint background noise, Malik positioned himself into a squatting position and carefully took out the Millennium Rod, gazing at its reflective surface.

'What a deceptively innocent little thing could do…' he mused to himself bitterly.

Suddenly, Malik felt a chill travel up his spine. He automatically brought his arms to wrap around himself and stared to rub his upper arms for warmth. Japan sure had a strange weather…only noon and he it felt like the beginnings of night in Egypt…surely that couldn't be normal? He tried to shake the frozen feeling off and stood up, returning the Millennium Rod in his pocket.

He took a glance out a broken window. The sun was as intense as ever, yet here he was, chilled to the bone.

"Maybe I'm coming down with a cold or something…" Malik said, "Great."

_"Hahaha…I…loosing…my touch…foolish mortal…   
_

Malik nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a faint airy laugh seemingly from nowhere. His head whipped right and left as he tried to make out where it came from. It wasn't the voice he usually heard…and this sounded like it came from somewhere in the room itself, not from _inside _himself.

The chill he was feeling returned tenfold. 'Maybe…' a thought ran unbidden in Malik's head, causing his lavender eyes to widen in fear. 'He couldn't have found a way…could he?'

"Who…Who's there?" he called out.

Malik waited for a long moment, rooted and sweating in his spot. When he didn't hear the voice again he let out an extremely relieved sigh, strange enough, that cold feeling he had mere seconds ago seemed to disappear as well. 'Damn…I'm going to go crazy if I keep getting paranoid like this…'

"Maybe the voices in my head started reproducing or something…" he said in a sarcastic tone.

"Malik!" he heard his sister shout, breaking the slightly tensed atmosphere.

He looked around the room one last time before shaking his head and dismissing that strange voice as something from his over-crowded mind. "Must be my imagination…" he mumbled as he walked back to the others, unheard by anyone except himself

Or so he thought.

-------

Bakura's face was graced with his usual smirk as he watched Malik go. It seemed that the boy frightened quite easily. 'That would certainly make everything easier…'

Excitement was bubbling deep inside the usually cold and callous ghost. Maybe it was the way Malik reacted to his freezing touch. All he did was lay a hand on the other's shoulder as he leaned forward to observe the Millennium Rod closer when Malik had taken it out again, just to make sure it really was an authentic Millennium Item and not just some cheap imitation. And that was when he noticed the effect he had unwittingly inflicted on the boy. Bakura just couldn't help but take advantage of the situation and do what he did best (other than laying waste upon his enemies, of course). Being a ghost for millennia, Bakura knew just what to do to creep people out.

He wasn't done yet, of course. Not even close. He still had to find out just what a Millennium Item is doing with a mere mortal like Malik, when the last time he saw the rod was with a certain High Priest. A certain High Priest that had a major role in trapping him in the cursed Millennium Ring in the first place.

Not to mention the fact that the ' Isis' woman bore a striking resemblance to a high priestess he had also crossed roads with a long time ago.

A wicked smile formed on his lips as he floated downwards. He'd leave them alone for now…but Malik better be ready when night falls. Because it is then that Bakura thought would be the best time to pay a visit to the boy once more.

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**Hope you liked it, and look! It's a not-really-but-kinda cliffie   
**

**This is part of my update-marathon thingie. Yup, going with this update is my other updates with _Just Pretend_, and _This, Was Me_, as well as yet ANOTHER humor fic I was inspired to write. They'll be up shortly after this one. Check em' out if you have the time.   
**

**(Shot and falls down with a tranquilizer dart on…forehead) XD **


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